Do I Know You?
by SogniDoroBella
Summary: This is an AU story that splits from canon at the beginning of "Broken" at the well. Rumbelle, this will have lots of angst and challenges for our couple as Belle struggles with the psychological trauma of being locked up and the physical toll of the drugs she was given in the asylum. Could be triggers for some readers. Will be multi-chapter fic.
1. Chapter 1

His arms were full of Belle, and they've been standing like this for good bit of time now, but Gold can't help being thankful that she hadn't protested because needed to hold her here, to hold her close to convince himself this wasn't a dream. Billows of smoky purple slowly faded out of the trees, leaving them in a circle of quiet.

_It was the very last thing he had expected, the last possible person—ever—that he expected to see in his shop. It had taken a moment, a heartbeat, for him to process the tangled and dirty hair and the shabby collection of clothing, if he could call it that, hanging loosely on her frame. Belle. His Belle. In his shop._

_Physical appearance aside, it had become quite obvious to Gold that she was not herself. Much like the rest of this town, she had remained under the curse and her demeanor was nothing like the Belle of the Enchanted Forest. _

_When he had reached for her, pulling her into his embrace, he would later admit it was more for his benefit than hers. He'd needed to feel her, to touch and know she was truly here—to know he wasn't losing his last bits of sanity. _

Coaxing her to the well wasn't as big of a challenge as he had expected. The town made her nervous, and it had seemed that as they traded streets for woods, Belle was glancing over her shoulder less and less often. And Gold was okay with that because he didn't like the idea of hanging around town with her, either. Regina had locked her away, and the more time they had before that witch knew she was free, the better. Just thinking about it made his blood pressure rise, and he clenched his cane in an attempt to dispel some of his anger. Now was not the time for that.

A slight breeze slid past them, and Belle shifted slightly in his arms, and his breath caught. He prayed she wasn't remembering all of the other things he has done beyond loving her. Those terrible, horrible things. Things he said and did to her, angry words, shaking her in his rage. Gold closed his eyes as if that could keep the memories away.

Only when she trembled a second time did he finally lean back just enough to look down, arms still cradling her close. "Sweetheart? Are you cold?"

Expressive blue eyes dropped at the question, and she shook her head no. Her hair fell in a curtain, tangled and dirty and hiding her away from him, pulling her back into that lost world where she was in his shop not even half an hour ago.

"Belle?" he tried to coax, reluctantly sliding one arm off of her shoulders and cupping her chin as though it was porcelain.

"We need t-to go," she stammered, eyes darting around her as she shifted from one foot to the other.

Gold glanced quickly around them, senses on full alert as the purple clouds faded into the distance. Squinting sharply, he scanned the woods around them, but not a single thing stirred except the sway of smaller branches in the light breeze. Even the animals were silent, no doubt still in hiding from the sudden release of magic. "We'll go soon."

"No," she protested, eyes looking around wildly, her body shaking again under his touch. "Now. We need to go _now._" Her breath caught, and she shifted back, looking behind her like someone might be standing there to hurt her.

He reached for her, hand barely sliding against her arm, and it's meant to comfort, but she jerked away in reflex. "Alright," Gold tried to soothe, "Anything you want, sweetheart. We can go. My home, it's a bit of walk."

She turned again, glancing at this way and that, breath shorter and shorter.

"Belle," he called just loudly enough to attempt to reach through her growing panic. "Let's go. We'll go. Now." He wished he had his car, although when he heard an automobile rumbling down the road not far off, she turned around in alarm again. It's challenging between his cane and trying to guide her back in the general direction they came, but he forced himself to focus on getting to a place where she can feel safe. Never had he wished so fervently that he could return them to his Dark Castle.

"What was that sound?" she asked, trying to get a glimpse through the trees as they make slow progress over the uneven ground.

His hand cupped her elbow, guiding and steadying her as she stumbled over the terrain, looking everywhere but at the ground. "It's called an automobile or a car. Actually, that was a truck. Nolan's truck, if the red was any indication."

Belle stopped her tracks, frozen. "W-who?"

"A… ally of sorts," he tried to explain, not having a much better answer than that. "An occasionally helpful ally. David Nolan. Or Prince James as he was known in our land."

"Does… does he… Does he know _h-her_?"

She didn't have to say the name for Gold to know precisely who she meant. "Yes, but he would never help her. She is his enemy. You're quite safe from him. Come on, we should make there in a bit, watch your step."

It was slow going, but they finally emerged from the woods a few streets from his him. If he thought it was the hard part, though, he was sadly mistaken. By the time he finally coaxed her the long way around, sticking close to shade and trees, she was at the edge of panic again, tears streaking her cheeks and lip practically raw where Belle tried to bite her bottom lip and keep quiet, to keep from crying.

"Sssh, I promise, it's alright. I'll keep you safe. Just inside here," Gold did his best to comfort, taking it as good sign when he slid an arm around her, and she finally buried her face against his shoulder and accepted the comfort. He guided he through the back, away from any prying eyes of his neighbors and into the dining and kitchen area. Locking the door carefully behind them, he guided her right on into the parlor and eased them both to a sofa.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered apologetically, words muffled into his shoulder, the same shoulder whose sleeve was damp with her tears. This was a Belle he had never known, anxious and so unsure. _What the hell happened to her and where, exactly, was she locked up for so long that no one in this town knew anything about it?_ "You'll protect me," she rasped against the fabric of his shirt.

Gold rubbed her back gently, carefully gathering her close. When she didn't resist, he shifted a pillow to make her as comfortable as possible. His hand kept a steady rhythm as it stroked between her shoulder blades. "Yes, Belle, I'm here, and you're safe." Only after she gave into her exhaustion did it occur to him that she might be hungry or thirsty or that she might want to take a bath or change out of the damned hospital gown and extra clothes that were obviously not hers. But none of that mattered right now because she was _here_, and she had finally relaxed enough to fall into the oblivion of sleep.

She was back, and he couldn't be more pleased about that. Or more confused. This changed his plans completely, forcing him to delay leaving town. But he didn't regret it. It was a second chance, and he hadn't had a second change before. He wasn't going to throw this away. He would hold on this time. Hold on to her.


	2. Chapter 2

_Attempting to post new chapters twice a week, we'll see how that goes. I have no idea how many chapters this will be, but I'm already surprised at the number of follows. Thank you all. Also, please note this fic **could be triggering to some people, especially in the realm of psychological trauma, anxiety, and drug use.** I want to be sensitive to this, please read with caution._

"Rumple... Rumplestiltskin?" came the tentative voice from the parlor, drawing him around the counter from the kitchen where he was working on tea and trying to decide if he should wake her to eat or let her sleep until she was ready.

Belle had made that decision for him, and he wasn't going to let her call for him for long. "Right here," he assured, stepping into view and crossing the room. He took in the lingering dark circles under her eyes, reminding himself that it would take more than a mere nap to erase those. He made it to her side just as she pushed herself up too quickly from the sofa and faltered.

His hand caught her elbow, bracing her and somehow managing to keep both of them upright. She was pale, and he couldn't help but wonder when she last ate something. "Alright?"

She nodded and waited while he claimed his cane, resting against the sofa. When he slid his arm around her, she didn't protest in the least.

"How does food sound? Maybe some fruit and tea to start?" he asked as they rounded the sofa. His hand stayed around her until she had managed to climb onto the stool and looked steady. Reaching around, he slid a bowl into place. "What looks good?"

Belle bit her bottom lip in uncertainty as she eyed everything cautiously. "Um…"

He'd had the grace not to include apples. Personally, he held nothing against the fruit in this world, but Gold avoided it on principle. "Bananas are a good starting point. A bit more mild. Oranges are a little more acidic like tomatoes, though I prefer their juice to the fruit. Pears are lovely, too."

"The long ones," she ventured, opting for the banana and watching closely as he pinched the end and split the peel. Her first bite was small, but she quickly took a second, bigger bite.

It was on the tip of his tongue to caution her to slow down, but he tried to push back the comments for now. Making a mental note to stock up on bananas, he poured a cup of tea and slid it in front of her. "It's very hot," he warned, pouring himself his own cup and trying not to seem like he was hovering while she ate. "Supper shouldn't be much longer, and then we can have a proper meal."

She was too busy eating to give much of an answer besides a nod of comprehension, and he didn't press. Right now, he would be happy to sit there and feed her anything she desired. While petite, his Belle had never been so frail before, not even when she came to his castle after her kingdom was under siege. Despite the multiple layers she wore, he could see how thin her face had become. And her complexion told him that she hadn't seen much sun. She managed the entire banana and two small cups of tea before the timer dinged, causing her to start and almost drop her cup.

"Just the alarm to let me know our meal is ready," he explained, reaching for the pot holders and carefully easing out the casserole dish. In addition to cleaning, Miss Boyd also put together meals, though they were often put in the freezer for use later. He wouldn't admit that he had spent a good ten minutes trying to decide what Belle might like to eat. He'd settled on a tuna and rice casserole, deciding it would be filling. "Give it a few minutes to cool."

He slid a generous portion before her, scooping out his own serving and taking the seat beside her. "This is tuna, which is a type of fish, and rice. Rice is a grain in this land. And the yellow is butter and melted cheese. If you don't like it, I have plenty of other things to eat."

Belle nodded, taking a small bit on her fork and blowing to cool it before tasting. Her swallow was followed by another mouthful. Although she didn't down it as eagerly as she had the banana, she did settle into eating steadily for a few minutes while Gold managed to relax enough to eat a bit, too. He was no use to her if he didn't eat something himself.

"Rumple?" she asked quietly just as he reached the halfway point of his meal.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he glanced up to see serious blue eyes searching his.

Her fingers tightened around the lip of the bar. "How… how long was I locked up?"

"It was a curse," he stated quietly, hoping he wouldn't have to go into all of the details, just yet, of his exact involvement in this curse. He'd never, ever meant for it to hurt her. Though it had. He'd been so certain she was dead. The fact that she clearly wasn't dead was no consolation.

Her gaze narrowed a little, and she turned to more fully face him. "How long?"

"Twenty eight years," he replied quietly, his voice cracking on the last word. For a long time, neither spoke a word. Gold was still, unsure what to say or do, and the silence wrapped around both of them until the air system kicked on with a soft hum that made her startle. "I'm sorry, Belle," he said in no more than a whisper.

She took a short breath, body tense. "I can't… it… seemed like forever. And nothing," she admitted. "I… there's so much. All that time, stuck there. It was awful," Belle ended with a rasp, her voice raw.

His hand brushed across her shoulders, and he winced when it made her jump. "I'm sorry, Belle. I'm so sorry." It was clear that she was upset, badly shaken from today and whatever had happened to her while locked up. Tears were welling up, and he _hated_ seeing her cry. It made him feel helpless, and for someone with as much power as he wielded, it was a very foreign feeling. A feeling that took him back to his spinning days, days he did his very best to forget.

Pulling the handkerchief from his suit pocket, he very gently reached in and dabbed at the stray tears before tucking it into her hand. A few sniffles and a hiccup later, and she started to hand over the silky cloth. "Hold onto it," he murmured, gently closing her fingers around it. "I know you're frightened, but I promise I'll do everything—_everything_—I can to keep you safe."

A hitched breath was his answer, and she nodded, rubbing the handkerchief over her cheeks again and accepting a refill on her cup of tea.

"Do you think you can eat a little more?" he tried to coax, completely at sea regarding how much food she might be able to manage. While she had certainly eaten something, he wanted to help her gain back her appetite as quickly as possible.

Watery blue eyes regarded the plate, and she shrugged slightly. "Maybe… I think I'm full right now, though."

He nodded, again fighting the instinct to press this issue, to stuff her full of food until she forgot what it was like to be hungry, forgot what it was like to have as her only option whatever mess they might have considered a meal. Regina had locked her up, yes, he knew, but _where_? Where in Storybrooke that no one had noticed before? He tried to ignore the questions. "Any time you're hungry, help yourself. To anything. The fruit, anything in the cupboards." Gold crossed the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "This is the refrigerator, and it's an ice box to keep things cool down below, frozen foods in the upper section. The drinks and things like cheese are fine to eat like they are. Some of it needs to be heated, which I'll show you how to do when you're ready. But any time at all, you don't need to ask to help yourself."

Belle nodded and took her time as she finished the second cup of tea. It was so much information to absorb, and he hadn't even covered a fraction of the kitchen. Belle from the Enchanted Forest would have asked dozens of questions, would have been eager to try out the gadgets. The one before him looked worn, despite her nap. "Is there… a place to wash up?" she ventured. "Once I finish this tea, and thank you for it, by the way."

"Yes, I'll show you the washrooms. You can bring your tea with you." He slipped from his seat, ignoring their plates, and offering a hand as she climbed from the stool. Wordlessly, she tangled her fingers into his, her eyes flickering over everything as they made their way to the second floor.

OUAT * OUAT * OUAT

He hadn't been prepared for everything to be foreign to her, for so many things to frighten her. The exact details of the curse, as far as it affected everyone else, had eluded Gold. He'd built in enough safeguards to be sure he wasn't sent through twenty eight years of fairly repeated cycles. There was enough leeway to allow for variations in the days, enough deal making to keep his brain occupied and sharp. And he'd certainly given himself the early warning, a catch that pulled him from his cursed memories back to himself the moment he heard Emma Swan's name.

From what Gold could tell, the entire town had been supplied with enough memory of this world to function in it. No one, that he knew of, struggled with turning on a facet or had jumped back in fear when it was tugged open too hard and water gushed out.

He had reached around Belle, guiding her back with a calming word and worked the knob closer to the wall. So many things required explanations, and while he was glad to give them, she was so lost. She was still physically— and now every much mentally—exhausted, and he hadn't even addressed toothbrushes or toothpaste or any of the half dozen toiletries in the cupboard.

Right now, his focus was in getting her through a bath and into the bed at the top of the landing for some very much needed sleep. On the other side of the curtain, he heard a small splash, and it took several minutes before he realized he was holding his breath.

"Rumple?" her voice asked uncertainly from the other side of the vinyl and linen curtains separating them.

"Yes?" came his patient reply.

Her hand slipped around the curtain, holding out a bottle, her face peeking out after it. "Shampoo?"

"Wet down your hair first. Then put a coin-sized piece in your palm and work it into your hair. It will lather up. When you've worked it through your hair, rinse it all out. It cleans your hair. Next, use the one marked 'conditioner' and work it into your hair. Conditioner won't lather, but it will keep your hair soft and will make the tangles more manageable."

"Thank you," Belle replied, carefully easing back the curtain and setting into the task at hand, if the sounds of rippling water were any indication.

When he had started running the bath earlier, he had made the crucial mistake of closing the door behind him on the way out. Her cry of protest and frantic scrabbling to yank the door open had him at tears, too. His new number one rule was _never close a door_, at least not one that left her on one side and him on the other.

He knew they needed help. And Gold knew who they needed to help them, but he wasn't about to leave Belle here to seek out the cricket. For now, she needed comfort and feeling of security, that much was obvious even to him. After a day or two of settling in, he would broach the subject. Cricket would come here, onto his turf.

And in the mean time, he was going to sit right here on the small chair he had snagged from the next room over. Waiting on the other side of the curtain. She had all the privacy she wanted, he was doing his best to give her space. If she wanted him close, it suited him just fine. But he definitely needed help here. And he hated asking for help.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry for the wait for an update, dearies. This and ch4 have been very hard to write, to get this going in the proper direction. Thanks for all of the reviews and follows. I do appreciate everyone who takes the time to give feedback. This has been the most challenging fic I've ever written._

He could feel her beside him, shifting for the hundredth time, twisting in the sheets and pushing away the very covers that she'd tugged tight around herself not ten minutes before. Gold wasn't sure which was worse, when she had awakened in the afternoon from a nightmare with a hoarse cry and in tears, or this constant restlessness.

Belle was exhausted. He knew it. He saw it all evening as she managed to eat part of a baked potato and some raw carrots. Every bite was slow, and she barely managed half. He had tried to show her around the ground floor of his home, but her attention was skittish, and she'd constantly felt the need to glance around, look behind her shoulder, never standing still for long.

"Belle?" he asked quietly, the pause making him cling to the vague hope she'd finally settled and gone to sleep.

"I'm keeping you up," she sighed, shifting again.

He didn't care if he never slept again (blatant lie, yes he did because he was tired, but that wasn't his priority). "Do you need anything?"

She gave a sigh and turned slightly. "Sleep. I just want sleep. I want it so much," came her weary answer, voice cracking slightly. "Softest bed I can remember, but I can't…"

"Are you too warm?" he asked, raising up on one arm and getting a look at her prone figure in the dim moonlight, muted by curtains.

She nodded and then shook her head, twisting restlessly again.

He reached for her forehead with a frown, trying to determine if she was running a fever. It might explain things, but she pulled back as though trying to avoid his touch. It was like she didn't want contact at all, which confused him. He'd offered this room to her, wanting to give her space, not to push. Especially not when she was anything but herself, and it was increasingly obvious that years locked up were taking a toll. But she'd asked him to stay, wanted him near and when she attempted sleep again after her nightmare-riddled nap, she'd asked him to be close. Specifically, she'd wrapped herself half around him. "Sweetheart?"

"Cold and hot. I think… I think I'm okay, and then it's too much of either. And it doesn't _feel_ right."

Gold twisted, reaching for a bedside lamp and clicking it on.

Her curls were wild and tangled, and she looked as washed out as she had in his shop. One arm pressed over her eyes, and she turned again, burying her face into the pillows.

"Belle?"

Her head shook, and she pulled the sheet close again, cocooning herself in them.

"Please talk to me," he pleaded, unsure if he should try touching her, afraid to even stroke her back when she was so on edge. It wasn't the angry tone she'd used toward him when she was in the Dark Castle. The little she said was halting and timid.

"D-don't let them take me back there," she finally begged, fingers tightening into the covers around her.

"Nobody's taking you anywhere," he answered, voice firm but gentle. "And I really want to help you, but, sweetheart, I don't know what's wrong."

When she finally looked up at him, her eyes were red rimmed and watery. "I think I really belonged there," came her raspy answer. "Everything feels _wrong_. I can't… I don't know. I'm so tired, but I can't sleep, and the nightmares, and I feel cold, but then I'm hot and the blankets are too heavy." Her voice amped with each phrase, and it took everything in him to keep from catching her hands that were suddenly in a rush to push away the covers again.

He carefully eased back all but the lightest sheet. They needed help, and he wasn't sure it would wait until morning. Gold didn't want to think about what morning might be like, if this night was any indication. He wanted her better and now, but he knew that wasn't possible.

She murmured in discontent and rubbed her eyes hard. "Don't let them take me back there," she whispered.

"You're not leaving this house unless you decide to," he promised. "I'm going to call for some help. Do you have a headache?"

Belle rubbed harder at her eyes, and shook her head. "N-no, it's so bright, though."

He twisted the switch, turning it to its lowest setting even as his other hand found his cell phone and started to dial. His first call went to voicemail, which he ignored and waited only a moment before redialing. On the third ring, there was an answer.

"H..hello?"

"This is Gold, come over now," he said curtly, and it occurred to him that, perhaps, he should have started with something else. But he had nothing else right now.

"It… Mr. Gold?"

"Yes, and you need to be here _now_," he growled, immediately regretting it when Belle huddled further into the covers, shying away from his touch again. "Front door will be unlocked, go to the second floor, room at the top of the landing." Not waiting for further reply, he ended the call and turned his attention back to the woman beside him. "Sssh, it's going to be alright. You're safe, you're not going anywhere," he affirmed.

It wasn't okay, and, in fact, it was a mess fifteen minutes later when shouts and dual footfalls on the stair sent Belle through another round of terror, this time cowering on the far side of the bed. She was in tears, hands pressed hard over her ears, head tucked between her bent knees.

"Gold?" the voice shouted, steps closer and closer.

He tried to wave them back as they crossed the threshold. "Stay there!" he shouted, giving David a glare.

"Who is—" the blasted prince started to ask, even as Hopper finally caught up to the younger man.

"Stay _there_," he growled, waving them back again and trying with his bad leg to crouch close to Belle. "Sssh, I'm _so sorry_," he attempted to pull her from the shell she had retreated into. It was bad before, but he'd only made it worse. Worse because he hadn't taken a few extra moment to explain anything.

"Who is it?" David asked, less demanding and more question in his voice this time.

"Belle," Gold answered, more in attempt to get her attention than a true answer to the men at the door. "And you've just made it worse."

Hopper squeezed around the taller man, though he didn't go far into the bedroom. "Wh-what happened?"

"Regina locked her up," he ground out, "she appeared in my shop this morning, and now…"

A single wet-sounding cough was his only warning, and it wasn't enough before Belle was choking on a sob and gagging. His clothes managed to stay clean, but the silk pajamas she was wearing were now ruined. By the second round, he'd snagged a rubbish bin and guided it to her, brushing back her hair. "Ssssh, Belle, I swear, it's okay," he crooned, ignoring the other men and hating himself for bringing anyone else here.


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry about the wait on this, but this chapter was the hardest to write and went through at least 5 rewrites, 3 of them major structural rewrites and shifts. So… enjoy. This has been my hardest fic to write, yet. I have no idea how long this will end up being but I anticipate many more chapters to come. Thanks to all who have reviewed, you kind, lovely people._

"Please make it stop," she sniffled brokenly, fingers squeezing weakly at his. His Belle was curled against a pillow, a few tears still falling.

He adjusted the blanket, bringing it up around her shoulders as she shivered. She must be cold again, and Gold could hardly keep up with the changes between hot and cold. Hopper called it 'hypersensitivity' and said it was very common with withdrawal. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it will get better."

"The line's in," the nurse murmured. She was standing on the other side of the bed, starting the IV that had been deemed necessary. The woman was smart enough to roundly ignore the conversation, her eyes firmly on the instruments and her patient's hand. She'd also had the sense to cup her hand over the small flashlight she used, to shield its brightness. "This might feel a little strange, but I'm simply making sure things are taped down."

Belle's forehead wrinkled in obvious disapproval as the tape was added, her fingers squeezing tighter around his.

"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly.

"A bit… It feels strange," she sniffled, starting to squirm onto her side.

After a perfunctory check, the nurse turned back to the pair. "Every thing is set, we'll let it run its course now. I'll be nearby if you need anything."

He practically bit his lip to keep from grinding out _yes, privacy._ It had _better_ get better. It was taking every single ounce of self-control not to take his cane to Nolan. Or David. James. Whoever the man was now. Or the doctor who had been in and out a few times now. Taking a slow breath, Gold attempted to push aside the anger. It wasn't helping Belle, and she needed help _now_. She certainly didn't need to see him beat someone senseless in front of her.

Sunlight was trying to creep around the edges of the window shades, but Hopper had insisted they should keep the room dark for Belle's sake. The light bothered her. Sounds bothered her, voices at a normal pitch often seeming much louder than they actually were. And they had gone through several panicked rounds where she was hot and complained either the robe or blankets were _too heavy_ leading to a frenzied rush to get the offending materials off and away as fast as possible.

He started to reach, catching himself just in time. Gold was learning to ask first. "May I help you?"

She nodded, unable to hide the small shiver when they had to adjust the blankets ever so slightly to allow her to turn. No doubt it had let in a small draft. Belle huddled into the blankets.

"Easy," he murmured, using some pillows to bolster her. He very gently eased up the hand with the IV, tucking another smaller pillow under it and easing the covers up to the line. Her small sigh was one he took for relief, and he basked in a simple moment of quiet, of alone with her.

_It had taken a while to calm Belle when Nolan's arrival had frightened her, to help her change into clean pajamas, which again hung on her thin frame. He managed to coax her into the adjoining room, but conversation was stilted. She was antsy, always glancing around the room, unable to give responses to very many of Hopper's open-ended questions. It was when she couldn't answer about pills that Hopper made the decision. "Belle, we need to get you to a hospital," Hopper tried to say, but he didn't get far._

_Her eyes went wide, and she scrambled backwards into the very corner of the sofa. "No! I can't!" she immediately protested, cowering when the man pulled out his cell phone. "Rumple, you said I wasn't going anywhere!"_

_He hadn't felt so torn in decades. Something was obviously wrong, and even she had acknowledged to Hopper in her own stilted way that something wasn't right. Crazy was the word she had used, and he'd objected immediately to the term. His Belle was _not_ crazy. "She's not going anywhere unless she chooses to go."_

Gold still wasn't sure he had made the right decision. Yes, he was irritated at the people invading his home. Not only because it was _his_, not only because no one except Ashley and intruders had been in this home ever. But because every person who came only upset Belle, everyone was a stranger when she was craving solitude and sleep.

"Close your eyes, sweetheart," he murmured, thumb rubbing over her knuckles. "You're staying right here. I'll be here when you wake up." Gold fought the panic and frustration that bubbled up every time those teary blue eyes locked with his. He _hated_ seeing her upset and hurting.

The IV stand was set up beside the bed, her arm with the line propped up on the pillow. Coaxing her into holding still had been a battle that left her exhausted but submitting to it as the only alternative to having to actually _go_ to the Storybrooke hospital. He knew he should be thankful that the nurse hit a vein the first time, but he was still angry that part of the reason why she needed the line was because she got so upset she was sick over Nolan and Hopper's sudden intrusion. That she was in withdrawal and dehydrated.

It was Nolan's idea to call Doc rather that Whale, although it was a toss up, really, between the two. Neither dealt with much drug use, forced or otherwise. Whale was a surgeon; Doc was a country doctor who dealt with general practice. But it was the best they could do. Even if he hit the road with her, their only other option would be a recovery clinic. One look at Belle, and they would admit her to a program, and he wouldn't see her for days if not weeks. He hadn't considered it for longer than a single moment. No. Not an option.

She blinked slowly up at him, and he wished desperately that she wouldn't fight sleep or the anti-anxiety medication that Hopper had doled out. The cricket had assured them it was a very small dosage meant to curb some of the effects of withdrawal. No one had yet to determine exactly _what_ she was coming off of, but for now Gold was glad to let Nolan and Hopper deal with that. For now, anyway. "I'm staying here," she murmured, the word slurring with sleep.

"Right here in my home," he assured.

Another slow blink in the dim light, and she yawned so loudly her jaw popped. "Did those other people leave?"

He caught the edge in her question. "Only Dr. Hopper and the nurse are staying, but they're downstairs for now. Do you need another sip of water?"

"No," she sighed, eyes sliding shut again.

Gold wished she would say 'yes.' There were serious dehydration concerns, and the fact that she'd lost everything she ate for supper wasn't helping. Doctor's orders were rest, specifically sleep, followed by as much soft foods as she could manage. Someone was supposed to be sending more bananas, soup, and bread for toast.

"Let yourself relax, sweetheart, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. And when you're up to it, I'll show you around the back," he murmured, voice pitched at its softest register, the words slipping easily from his tongue as he let his brogue thicken. "I have some lovely roses, and when you feel ready for a change, I'll show you my shop. I have so many things there, things from the Dark Castle. There it is now, nice and easy," Gold assured when he saw her body finally give up some of the tenseness it has held all night.

He settled into the armchair that someone, possibly Hopper, had dragged alongside the bed earlier. "There are so many wonders in my shop, Belle," he kept his voice pitched to a low lilt, "there are trinkets and gems, treasures untold. Swords and objects of every kind. And several antique volumes all yours for the reading."

Her breath was evened out now, chest rising and falling, and he at last let himself fully relax into the chair. "So many lovely objects," he sighed himself now, his own yawn making him sink further into the chair and give up the weary battle to sleep before he could even consider the comfort of his seat or what the next hours might bring.


	5. Chapter 5

**Trigger warnings for psychological trauma, forced drug use, and withdrawal symptoms.**

She was curled up against the side of the large chair on the balcony, a blanket wrapped around her when Belle heard him calling her name. Moving took effort, energy she didn't think she had right now. It was easier, so much easier to stay put.

"Belle?" It was the doctor—_Archie_ as he had said she could call him. She could hear him stop at the doorway to the covered balcony. "May I join you?"

Slowly she leaned back, arms wrapped around herself, holding the blanket close. "Yes," she rasped, her voice rusty from lack of use. One hand surrendered a corner of the blanket and she rubbed at her eyes.

Twilight was settling now, muting the sunlight. It had been so bright today, and while it didn't bother her as much as it used to, it still seemed brighter than it ought to be. When it finally registered that he's offering a mug to her, Belle took it carefully, glancing down and wrinkling her nose a little. "Water."

"Yes," Archie affirmed, "Would you like me to help you up, or are you comfortable there?"

"Want to stay here," she murmured before taking a careful sip of the warm liquid.

"How do you feel?"

It was a simple question. The same inane, simple questions he'd asked her over and over and over again. It took _effort_. Everything took so much effort. Her eyes rolled upward to meet his, and she caught it this time—the look. The crinkling at the corner of his own eyes, the look of compassion.

He was pressing the soft paper-like stuff into her hand before it fully registered that she was crying.

Her mouth opened, to attempt some kind of explanation, but she couldn't. She just couldn't. There were no sobs, no sounds this time, just the endless streaks running down her cheeks, and she sagged against the chair, curled on herself and the edge of the rug running the length of the balcony. The air around her was cooler now, and she huddled into the blanket, pulling it up around her ears.

"Belle?" the warm, soft voice called, trying to coax herself out of the dark place she had settled. "Can you look up at me?"

She leaned forward, head resting on her knees, eye peering up through a curtain of hair.

"May I touch your shoulder?" he asked kindly.

The nod took the last of the effort she could give right now, and she went stock-still. The warm hand against her shoulder was light, tentative. And while she could feel the damp sliding down both cheeks, the hand felt safe and comforting. Something she'd only found in Rumple, so far in this world.

Dark was settling in, light streaming from the lamp in the bedroom and Archie's hand still resting lightly on her shoulder when she shivered again. "It's late?" she asked, blinking up and finally finding the motivation to brush her hair from her eyes.

"Supper time," Archie answered quietly. "Would you like soup tonight or something else?"

She gnawed at her bottom lip for a moment. "I'm not very hungry," she admitted meekly. It was the truth, although she knew that wasn't going to change that it was dinner time.

"A snack at least?" he coaxed, watching her sip down the now very cool water left in the mug.

She spent a lot of time sleeping still, she was pretty sure it had been a day or so? Was it only a day or two since she'd walked out of that place. A deeper chill crept in at the thought, and she shivered harder.

"Belle," Archie's voice broke through the memory, and he was holding out his hand.

Hers are so much smaller, that he bends to help her up, the other hand under her arm like it's going to pull off if he's not careful. Everything is careful right now. Soft words, dim lights. The fabrics she's wearing are soft to her skin, warm but not rough and thin like that horrid gown or natty like the coat. He said something about a snack, and she knows it's coming.

They try to get her to eat something every time she's awake now. And drink Always water. The needle in her arm came out this afternoon, and it makes her shudder a little to think about it. All the drinking water, she has to sip it down or that thing goes right back in, crawling under her skin and making her want to claw it away.

"Where are your thoughts?" he asked, voice pitched just enough to break into the dark place she's wandered into without even realizing it.

"I don't want that thing in my arm," she said quietly, pausing at the door into the house, blinking into the dim lights. "I don't like this."

"You're better hydrated," Archie encouraged. "You've kept everything down. That should mean the IV doesn't have to go back in." He stepped through the doorway and stepped aside, waiting for her to join him.

Her head shook slightly, fingers curling into the blanket still tucked tightly around herself, curling also into the sleeves of the soft shirt Rumple had brought her. It was blue and warm. She thought she liked blue. It was better than gray and white. "I don't like this… feels fuzzy. Everything's far away." It was like a barrier between her and everything else. Untouchable, invisible. But there. Keeping her back. Making her feel wrapped in stuffing or swaddling. Not completely there. It made her want to strike out at something, but she lacked the energy or the will.

"Can you talk to me?" he coaxed softly. "Just a word?"

She shook her head slightly, mouth opening and the closing a half moment later. "I don't like this."

"This place?" he asked, gesturing around the room she had barely entered, only a bit over the threshold. "Or talking?"

"This … _feeling_," she struggled for the word, reaching for it, fumbling around the syllables. She'd soaked up books, muddled memories were there of the sofa in his castle, and so many books. Fragments of stories she'd vaguely grasped at while she was… kept away. The words were eluding her, and she wriggled a bit in the blanket and scuffed a sock-covered toe at the floor. "Everything, I can't."

He was quiet for a while, letting her walk around the room a bit. She closed the blinds, tugging the curtains over the panes, needing the outside to go away for a while. When she finished, she turned around, leaning against the wall, Belle sank to the ground, knees against her chest.

Archie stood, moving slowly. She liked that he didn't move too fast. That he gave her time to watch what he was doing. "It's dinner time. Do you think you can come downstairs and eat?"

Her head shook slightly, and she sighed softly. She was tired. Tired again. "Not right now."

"Can I help you into the chair or bed?" He seemed concerned.

Her forehead wrinkled. Did it really matter? She traced a pattern in the fabric of the blanket, idly following the golden line.

"Belle? The floor's awfully hard." He stepped closer, moving so slowly. It reminded her of a time when she was at Avonlea, years and years before. A little wren caught in some webbing in the courtyard. It had nearly hurt itself trying to get away when she was only talking so quietly and moving inch by tiny inch closer.

She let him help her up and settle into the arm chair, not fighting the yawn that had her curling against a round pillow.

"We'll try eating again later?" Archie asked kindly, helping her untangle the trail end of the blanket and draping it carefully over her.

"Later," she agreed, eyes blinking listlessly and resting her head on the pillow. It was too much to keep her eyes open, too much right now.

Archie finally reached the door, the door that stayed open. There was that triangle at the bottom that kept it from closing. "Door stays open?"

A nod was her only reply as she let her eyes slid shut again.


	6. Chapter 6

_Sorry for the long wait for this update. Writing this fic has been very challenging. I hope you enjoy, and I am so thankful for all of you who have reviewed. You're all such lovely people._

Gold was surrounded by books when Hopper returned in the afternoon. It had taken him some work to find the volumes tucked away in one of his downstairs rooms, but he knew they were there, somewhere. And more outdated than he would care to admit. He might be the master of many things in both this land and their former, but in these fields he had much to learn.

"Where's Belle?" was the cricket's question as he let himself in the front door and had easily found Gold in the parlor.

"In bed, upstairs," he replied, attempting (and failing) to finish the sentence he was reading. Some of what he had read made sense, some of it seemed out dated, and some of it…. Well, for someone with enormous amounts of focus, he found it frustrating to struggle with these concepts. Too many distractions.

Hopper glanced toward the stairs as though he could see through drywall and insulation. "She's sleeping again?

He shook his head slightly. "I didn't say that. She's in bed. I don't think she's sleeping, though. She _should_ be because she was up half the night unable to sleep. But she isn't asleep."

"Did you talk to her?" Hopper questioned, his forehead wrinkling in concern as he automatically reached into his bag for his notepad and pen.

Gold tucked a scrap of paper into the book and closed it. "Yes, yes I did, however there was no conversation."

"I don't understand," the cricket answered, pausing halfway across the room and clearly torn between the current exchange and the urge to go up and check on his patient.

"A conversation generally implies two parties exchange thoughts and ideas through spoken word. She… isn't speaking." His hand brushed through his hair, pushing the locks from his face and giving the man a hard stare.

Another glance, this one longer, from Gold to the stairs and back to Gold again. "You tried to speak with her?"

He nodded, gesturing fruitlessly upward. "She's curled up in bed, covers over her head. When I check on her, she doesn't answer. She was sleeping earlier, but the next two times I went to see, she was awake."

"Did she look at you?"

"No," he slumped into the sofa, fighting the urge kick at the books with his good leg. Gold wanted to shout, to hit something, to strike something with his cane. Regina. He wanted to hurt Regina for this, for creating so many of these problems. And he wanted to strike himself for sending her away in the first place. For not being able to protect her. "Her eyes were closed. Like she was sleeping, but she was so stiff. I know what it sounds like when she's sleeping. The way she breathes. How she rests."

It was intimate, far more intimate than anyone would believe him capable of being. What she had seen in him, he would never, ever understand. But he knew this. Knew her. Or he had. Or thought he did.

"Can I… go up?" Hopper asked, almost uncertainly, like he hadn't become a regular part of this home over the past few days.

"You know the way," Gold muttered darkly, shoving his hair from his face yet again and tugging at the wilted collar of his shirt. It was wrinkled, and he should probably take a shower and change later. "Maybe she actually ate some of her lunch. I left the tray for her."

The plan had been simple enough—get her through detox, keep her drinking lots of water and eating whatever they could get into her. Every calorie counted. All the vitamins were essential. And the small dosage of anti-anxieties for now, until they knew more, well those were vital. And once she was detoxed, then a schedule. Some kind of consistency. But they had to get through detox first, and no one had any idea how long it might last. He had been hoping, secretly and inanely hoping, for a short detox. It was looking far from likely.

Hopper was up the first three steps before he paused to glance back. "You should get some rest," he said, and though the words were hardly a revelation to one who had lived well over three hundred years, Gold recognized the undercurrent of kindness in them. And something like the concern he had only ever seemed to find in Belle and Bae.

He waited only until the cricket was out of sight before toeing off his shoes and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt and his shirt sleeves. With a sigh and a weary look in the direction of his study further down the hall where his scotch waited, he finally shifted. Legs stretched the length of the sofa, and Gold let himself sink into the decorative cushions. His head rested against arm, eyes sliding shut before he could stop them.

ONCE UPON A TIME

Belle could hear that thumping sound again, and someone was talking. Some of them left her alone. No words for hours on end, maddeningly silent. And others often knocked their fists against the door, calling to her and making her jump at the sudden loud noises.

Three thumps this time, and she backed further into the room. They couldn't get in, she told herself. It was a sort of a lie. She'd locked the door tight, thinking herself clever. There hadn't been a lock before. How had she not locked it before? For some reason she couldn't remember it being there before, but she wasn't going to pass up the chance. It might be her only chance.

And then she had thought that if _she_ had a key, she could still get in. And as bad as the others were, the looks and occasional comments when they left her meals, well… _she_ was the worst of all. It had taken much more effort than Belle expected to push the wooden piece in front of the door, but it was worth it to be alone, to have one more thing between her and _them_. Another thump, and she barely bit back her squeak of fear, scrambling backwards and bumping against something hollow sounding behind her.

Glancing fearfully toward the blocked door, her fingers felt behind her, running along something smooth but hearing the hollow sound when she tapped it softly with her fingers. Searching blinding, she found a seam.

A quick peek over her shoulder and she located a knob. Belle tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and held her breath as it opened outward. It was a smaller room within the room, crowded with things, but she didn't care.

Moving fast and trying to keep as quiet as possible, she tucked herself inside, crawling over leather things, soft things flickering at her face and arms when she tried to push it away. Her breath caught, and she finally caught hold of one of the things long enough to feel that it was cloth. Clothing.

A search in the dark little room told her that the things on the floor were shoes. A little room inside a room for the clothing. She was fine with that. Pushing aside the shoes, she found the far corner and curled up.

It was quiet in here. They wouldn't know where to look for her. And the wood thing would keep them out for a good long time. Maybe even forever. She could finally rest.

There was a distant voice, muffled and far away. Let them call her, let them try. She was hidden away in this little room, no lock on this one. She could get out when she wanted. No little box that opened to let anyone look in on her. No one could see her here.

Above her was something soft, and she tugged at it, pleased when the cloth slithered into her lap. It was warm and smelled like something familiar that she couldn't place. And didn't want to place. It took too much time and too much energy. Curling into the corner, her eyes slid shut and she rested in the stillness.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks to all who have reviewed. It's very encouraging. I'm surprised at the follows, thank you all. My job is at its peak for the year in the summer, so I am sorry updates take a while. I do plan to continue with this fic and to continue to update! _

"Do your dwarf friends still have their pick axes?" Gold growled as he pushed against the door yet again.

He'd had a nap of sorts, almost two hours on the couch before Hopper woke him to tell him the door was not only closed but locked. All attempts to call out to Belle had ended in silence. They could not hear her moving around in the room, and too much time had passed.

It took Gold almost fifteen minutes to remember exactly where he had stashed the skeleton key. One was tucked safely in the false bottom drawer in the room where Belle had locked herself. The second was in a little box he had tucked away in his study in a little secret panel he had engineered himself years and years ago. He was _very_ good at remembering where he put what, but his emotions were distracting him.

Not that the key did much to help. The door barely budged, not even a mere quarter inch before progress was stopped. And without knowing where she was or what was pushed against the door, they ran the risk of overbalancing the furniture and injuring Belle. If only she would _answer_, it would help.

"It's best for her to choose to move and let us in," Hopper replied, attempting for calm and failing miserably. The shrink was fidgeting and letting Gold know he was anything but okay with this situation.

"It's _best_ that she doesn't go through this alone," he shot back, throat tightening at the last word and clenching at his cane in anger. The urge to attack the door with his cane was growing, gnawing at the edges of his reason. It would frighten her terribly. He couldn't do that to her. But he _really_ wanted that door to be gone.

Gold was already running through people in his mind, who could move out the heavy furniture. Who could remove the doors from his rooms. It was absurd, but he had to do something with his thoughts or he was going to lose it while waiting. Waiting wasn't doing anything. It wasn't helping anyone.

"Belle?" he called again. "Sweetheart, _please_, can you answer?"

Silence.

Not even bothering to look at the cricket, he raised his hand, ready to beat at the door, to beat it until either his hand or the wood broke. Not caring which it would be. And instead he was knocking. "Belle, please?"

"R-rumple?" came a broken question.

"Right here," he answered, sagging against the wall in relief.

"I can't g-get out. Stuck in here," the words slipped through the barriers between them, and he heard her sharp breath, cutting off the sob. "Rumple?"

"Sweetheart, you need to move whatever is in front of the door," he answered. "We can't open it until you do."

A muffled fumbling on the other side, and he could hear clattering and scraping, no doubt as she tired to push whatever it was away from the door. "I can't get out," she protested helplessly, voice catching and a panicked tone creeping into her words.

"Belle," Hopper tried to call calmly. "Can you tell me what's in front of the door?"

"Chest of drawers," came the words and another scraping sound and a sort of _oooofff_ of protest as she no doubt tried again.

Unable to wait any longer, he tried it this time, managing to get the door open a half inch. "I'm right here," he said, finally catching sight of a strip of fabric the color of his robe, a red-rimmed blue eye, and tangled locks.

"Keep going," Hopper encouraged. "You're making progress." It was an attempt to distract her, though her fingers were already reaching for the crack, trying to take his hand.

"So heavy," she hiccupped, rubbing her sleeve against her eyes. Another scraping sound and clunk as she threw her weight against the dresser.

He added to her efforts now that he could see she was to one side. The loud scrape might make him protest about scratched floors on any other day, but he couldn't care less about it today. By the time he registered that Hopper was helping him push, the gap was finally wide enough for Gold to squeeze through and into the room.

She went willingly into his arms, hugging him even tighter than she had at the well, tucking her head under his chin. "Needed you," she sniffled brokenly, curling against him, and he had no trouble identifying the tremors running through her body for the hundredth time.

"Hopper?" Gold called softly, rubbing her back and giving a quick glance to the few shirts that had fallen from their hangers in the closet.

"Yes?" the shrink asked, peering into the room and managing to squeeze through the opening. His gaze fell almost immediately on Belle whose hands were clenching into Gold's shirtsleeves. "Belle, how are you?"

"C-cold," she murmured into Gold's chest, and he gently stroked her hair in an attempt at comfort. "Tired. I… I woke up all alone."

"In the bed?" Hopper asked gently, seeing the bed that was not made up but didn't look like she'd slept in it, either. As he asked questions, he opened up the curtains enough to let in a little more light and eased open the balcony door to let in more light and open things up.

It was meant to change the space, to ground her, and it seemed to be working slowly. The fingers curled desperately into his sleeve were relaxing, and Gold continued to rub her back.

"In there," she said quietly, glancing toward the closet.

"You were in the closet?" Hopper asked neutrally as he straightened out the sheets on the bed and plumped up the pillows, taking his time as he moved around the room.

"It was safer in there," she replied. Suddenly she stiffened in his arms, glancing around the room and blinking a little. "It… wasn't real, was it?"

Gold very slowly released her, not wanting to lose the connection, but recognizing that she was pulling away. She had been restrained too much. He'd heard her talking, as her body tried to purge itself of drugs these past few days, of dark and cold, the gown that was too scratchy and the face in the slot. And he had heard something else of the tower and the numbers, counting, too many days, not enough, marks on the wall, erasing too many, losing count and the howling wind haunting the tiny window. It was enough to give him bad dreams, nothing he could pinpoint but an ominous feeling that left him with a sense of dread long after waking. Dread and anger, anger on her behalf.

"Don't take me back there," she whispered with a shiver, arms banding around herself as she walked in a half circle to give herself space between her and Hopper.

"You're here, I'm not taking you anywhere," Hopper assured, settling in a chair and making himself smaller and still. He was showing her that he was not a threat. "Belle, can you do something for me?"

A question designed to bring her to the present, to draw her mind from the maze of confusion that it was quickly descending toward. "Hmmm?"

"Can you look around this room and tell me what makes you uncomfortable?"

Blue eyes blinked in surprise, shifting from Hopper to Gold. He tried to give her a reassuring smile. "I… what do you mean?"

The doctor gestured generally. "Let's start with how it feels in here. You were cold? Did you have enough blankets?"

She nodded and her eyes fell on the second blanket in the pile. "I don't like that one," she said, pointing at the light gray blanket. "It doesn't feel right. It's too rough."

Gold swept it aside, tossing it into the hall and planning to throw it away later. Maybe even burn it.

"Anything else that doesn't feel right?" Hopper asked calmly.

"The sheets today… they… they smelled. Sharp, it makes my nose burn, and it… it's too much like.. I don't _like_ they. I couldn't sleep in them." She stepped back even farther from the bed as she spoke, turning to glare at the bedding again.

They were his set of white sheets, he realized. Freshly laundered, since she'd gone through another round of sweating and chills last night, followed by nausea that, thankfully, didn't bring up much food this time. He'd had their nurse bleach them. The bleach, then. "We can use the dark set with the other detergent," he assured her, already reaching for the bedding and systematically stripping it.

Hopper began to help him, working on the corners of the fitted sheet on the far side of the bed. "Anything else?"

She shrugged and stalked back and forth, looking around several times before giving another shrug. "I don't know…But I… I thought they were going to come in. That I could keep them out, but it wasn't _real_?"

"No one else has been here today," the psychiatrist answered gently. "I know this isn't the answer you want, but it isn't unusual—what you're going through. If you think of anything else that doesn't feel right, anything that makes you uncomfortable, can you tell me or Mr. Gold?"

She nodded and wandered to the open door to the balcony, standing in the doorway and taking a slow breath of the fresh air. Belle didn't speak until they finished with the sheets, Hopper taking everything downstairs and promising to run the other set immediately without bleach. Only when Gold asked her if she'd like to sit out on the balcony for a while did she answer, consenting.

They took refuge on the one and a half seat he'd had the foresight to move out there. Gold settled and considered it a very good sign when she asked to join him, curling against him as he resting his legs on the wicker ottoman. His robe, still engulfing her slender frame, and the throw were enough to make her comfortable.

"I shouldn't be tired again," she protested, but he murmured for her to relax, knowing the episode of waking and thinking she was elsewhere had drained her.

He only hoped they were making progress in the changes. There were some things they could do. Gold could be sure they didn't use bleached sheets. He was already planning to have Archer check the wash cloths, too, know the white ones had undoubtedly been bleached. And they could purchase more sheets, darker ones that wouldn't be bleached. And soft blankets, nothing scratchy.

Pushing aside those plans for later, Gold forced himself to focus on this moment, when she was calm and relaxing more and more by the moment. He memorized the thickness of her hair as his fingers slid through the tresses, sometimes pausing to rub her neck gently and work out some of the lingering tension. His free hand reached for a volume he'd been reading the other day. Flipping it open and still playing with her tresses, she gave a little murmur of approval as he began to read,

"_The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing,  
And surly Winter grimly flies;  
Now crystal clear are the falling waters,  
And bonie blue are the sunny skies,"_ By the end of the third line, her breath had evened out. He barely paused, taking a breath and decided to continue. He would fill her head with thoughts of light and peace, and pray to whatever that it led to much-needed rest.

"_Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning,  
The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell;  
All creatures joy in the sun's returning,  
And I rejoice in my bonie Bell._

The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer,  
The yellow Autumn presses near;  
Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter,  
Till smiling Spring again appear:  
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing,  
Old Time and Nature their changes tell;  
But never ranging, still unchanging,  
I adore my bonie Bell."

_AN: the poem is "My Bonie Bell" by Robert Burns_


	8. Chapter 8

_As always, thank you all for your kind messages and reviews. This fic is challenging, but an adventure to write. I hope you enjoy the latest update…_

As Belle woke slowly, she became aware of the faintly spicy scent and the warm comfort of soft sheets. The weight of a hand splayed across her lower back. The gentle fall and rise of the chest she was resting against. A steady, muffled thump of a heart beat in her ear.

She felt relaxed, and the world was starting to settle around her. Things were starting to come into focus, and the overwhelming sense of unreality seemed to have been shed some time in her sleep. It seemed like she had been floating for days, hovering in the half worlds and forever exhausted.

Long, lithe fingers were stroking very slowly through her hair, and she felt as well as heard the change in his breathing. The pad of his thumb slid over her forehead and lightly down her cheek before he leaned in a bit and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

With a big yawn, she twisted and tilted her head back, blinking in the mid morning light and giving him a drowsy smile. "'morning."

"Good morning, sweetheart," he murmured, stroking back a wild lock of hair and cupping her chin lightly and looking at her as though he was trying to assess, to figure something out.

For a half of a breath, she almost asked _I'm here, aren't I?_ But she pushed away the question and its hint of doubt, instead taking his hand and pressing a tender kiss into the palm. "We're together," Belle breathed, the truth of it starting to sink in. Before he could frame a reply, she felt the tears welling up and streaking down her cheeks. Her breath caught in her throat, and her fingers wrapped around his wrist. "We're _together_."

"Yes, yes, we are," he assured, sitting up a bit and hauling her, blankets and all practically into his lap until she was cradled close and the enormity of the realization ebbed and eased again.

The softness and warmth was there again, surrounding her, and she took comfort in resting her head against his chest again. A steady thump-thump settled her, until her fingers relaxed their grip, and she rubbed her hand lightly over his. "I'm sorry, I don't know where that came from," she finally said, clearing her throat and aware again of this moment, here with him.

He rubbed her back gently. "Likely, it was a long time coming," he murmured into her hair. His arms banded more tightly around her, letting her know she wasn't the only one who was feeling the enormity of the moment. "I never should have sent you away," came the raw whisper.

"We're together now," she murmured in assurance. Tilting her head back, she let it rest against his shoulder as her hand lifted. She traced the stubble along his jaw, fingers sliding up to slip into the thin locks. His hair was straight, silkier with none of the kink and coarseness of their world. Gray was shooting through the temples, and she indulged herself as her thumb stroked at a silvered root.

She didn't dare question _how_ they were together. There was a man, somebody tall with dark hair, and a name that eluded her. It was a hazy memory, and she would much rather enjoy these moments than try to grasp hold of it. That was darkness and cold, and right now she was warm and the light creeping in through the curtains spoke of morning.

A comfortable quiet settled around them, and Belle basked in it. It reminded her, distantly, of days when they worked in the Dark Castle—Rumple at his wheel, while she dusted and cleaned. But he had always been so stand-offish around her, stiffening and pulling back when she reached out in their old world.

Touch had always been a way for her to express herself. She reached out to others, and faintly she recalled her hand on her father's arm in that crumbling war room, reaching out in a feeble attempt to comfort him. With Rumple, though, she'd been grieving and angry. He touched her first, that hand to her back, turning her and leading her away. She had gone willingly. By choice.

But when everything shifted, she was the one reaching for him. Her hand on his thigh. Far later, during those long hours in the tower and in her more lucid moments, she think how forward she had been. And marveled at her own audacity. And wondered in between moments of pure anger how he could let her be so open with him and only throw it back in her face. They had both hurt so badly.

"Still tired?" he murmured into her hair, drawing her back, as always, from her thoughts.

"No," she replied decisively, nuzzling at his throat and kissing toward his jaw line. Her fingers stroked his chin, experimenting with the texture of stubble against the pad of her thumb. It was wholly different from what she had expecting, different from the mottled texture of goldish-green. Different than smooth skin in his shop.

He grew still and finally eased back his hand, bringing the palm to his lips for a kiss. "I should shave."

"I think I like it," Belle protested, less coy than curious, fingers brushing along the line of his jaw.

"All the same, I should shave," he murmured. He caught the wandering digits and drew them lightly to his lips, kissing each finger in turn.

She shifted slightly, to better face him, and nuzzled his collar, dropping a light kiss across the little triangle of skin that his nightshirt left exposed. The catch of his breath made her smile, and Belle had scarcely started to let her hand stroke across his chest when he released one hand to capture the other, lightly pulling it back.

Belle blinked up at him in confusion. He _liked_ it. Or had liked it. That much she knew. She knew she had neither imagined his breath catching nor they way he stilled when she first began to explore. Although she might be untried in the ways of men and women, she knew what _want_ and what interest looked like. The servants and courtiers of her childhood and youth were not terribly discreet. "Rum?" she asked hesitantly, trying not to feel hurt.

"There'll be time for that," he assured, his hand stroking lightly across her shoulder blades.

"There's _plenty_ of time right now," she countered, shifting a little closer and tilting her head up.

His hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking over the soft skin. "Sweetheart, this is the first that you've felt like yourself. Let's not rush anything. I care for you very much," he spoke slowly, eyes meeting hers. "I want to take our time. Please?"

That word cost him; she knew he so rarely said _please_ for anything. At least not in their old world. She could feel the tremble in his hand as he spoke, the strength of his words.

"You have so many things to sort," he continued. "I'm here, I'm not going anywhere, Belle. But we have plenty of things to manage without rushing into this. I won't rush into this with you."

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist. "But you do… want that?" She was blushing just at the words, and the dichotomy struck her. Moments ago she was the least bit abashed, curious but certainly not at all concerned with propriety. Perhaps, for all her love of words, she was much more a person of action.

"Yes. Very much so," he replied with a brief kiss to seal the promise. "We have time."

She nodded as their lips parted and gave his cheek another lingering kiss. "I'm holding you to that." It was terribly forward, but Belle decided she was past caring about such things. She'd never cared much for what was right and proper. Oh she got by and could play the courtier game better than most. But she'd never cared for it. It felt hollow and gilded.


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks to everyone for your patience with this update. It's been challenging to write, and my personal life has been busy lately. Hopefully the next updates won't take nearly as long. I really am trying to update once a week. Thank you to everyone who has left comments from previous chapters. It's very kind of you._

If he was like most men, Gold would ask Hopper how Belle was doing. He was keenly aware, however, that the question was pointless. It was pointless because it was so obvious that her emotions were reigned in but that frustration, anger, and fear were still simmering just under the surface.

The previous day had started off so well, with Belle feeling the most grounded she had since he watched her walk through the door of his shop. They'd slept until nearly ten that morning, finally starting their day and settling on an early lunch. She had tried sandwiches for the first time and discovered a preference for mustard and turkey. Pickles were a big hit, too.

Today, however she had taken up residence on her preferred corner of the third floor balcony, a new checked skirt swirling around her knees. She faced away from the doorway, and he could see her darkened mood in the way her shoulders were too stiff, even engulfed in his jacket. He'd already made a mental note to order a proper jacket and coat for her. And keeping her company was Pongo, who blinked in Gold's direction and gave what seemed to be a doleful look in his direction.

_Their routine was familiar now. A knock, a call to enter. To his credit, Hopper still knocked each and every day. He offered a tentative smile each time, as though he might be _glad _Gold allowed him in. As though he might have been invited or that someone might be happy to see him. It reminded Gold oddly of the bizarre ever-staring puppets in his shop, the ones that were wholly unaware of the tedium of their fate._

_Hopper took the stairs two at a time, calling frantically to his pet as Gold hobbled up behind him, cursing the animal and the stairs. It was forever with these stairs, bane of his existence in this land. And he was sure it was all Regina's doing._

"Mr. Gold?" Hopper asks from the doorway, motioning outside. He had been talking with Belle for at least forty minutes, and from the looks of things, Belle hadn't wanted to do much talking.

Gold was aware that patient information is kept confidential. That privacy laws are meant to protect, and that Hopper will honor those laws even though things are anything but normal and ordinary in Storybrooke. No doubt there will likely be a lot of debate in the upcoming days and weeks about which laws and order of things they will follow now—their old world or this new one. He's just thankful at the moment that Belle seems insistent that he share in some of this, even if she's upset.

Gold stepped out onto the balcony, taking a seat and hooking his cane on the low wall. It didn't escape his notice that she had taken a seat in the corner. It didn't take a degree in psychology to see that she was defensive. He wished he had brought a cup of tea or a snack, but now that she had come off of detox he was trying to let her take the lead on when she ate.

"Belle and I have talked a little, and I'd like to hear how things are going since my last visit," Hopper started quietly, sitting back in his chair and settling himself in for a conversation.

_After they ate and she enjoyed a bath, Gold decided that she was finally ready for the surprise he'd put together. He'd managed to get a collection of clothes for her—dresses, skirts, blouses and so on. _

_They were in a spare bedroom, waiting for her. The sleep things and comfortable things she'd worn so far were a combination of his own clothes and some warm and soft shirts and flannel sleeping pants he had purchased for her. Those had helped him gauge the size for the other clothes. And he had managed restraint, choosing some things now and reminding himself she might want to choose clothes for herself once she felt up to it._

_The quirks of this old home meant this room was actually a suite with a sitting area and adjoining bedroom. He'd lounged in the sitting room for the better part of an hour and a half while she traveled between the rooms, trying on clothes. Most of it she had modeled for him, and he'd agreed she looked lovely in everything she showed him. A handful of items she hadn't tried at all. After a bit of coaxing conversation, he had assured her that he could return them, that she could pick out plenty of other things instead._

"Yesterday started well. She felt much better than she had before," he started, voice lilting as he talked through their late morning. Beside him, Belle was shifting a bit and turning toward them in a way that he took as a good sign. "I, ah, had some things sent to the house, and she chose a new wardrobe."

Belle bit her lip, chewing at it for long moments as she pet Pongo before looking up. "They were beautiful. The dresses and shoes and things."

"You're beautiful," he murmured softly, enough that she heard but he didn't think Hopper did. The words weren't meant for the man to overhear. "And then we had a snack and some chamomile tea."

"I like chamomile. One of my favorite teas here," she spoke, and Gold took some small comfort that she was talking, joining into the conversation. Her gaze lifted to Hopper. "And then I was so tired… shouldn't I have more energy? I slept so well that night…"

The psychiatrist waited a few moments before speaking, clearly thinking over her words. "Physically, mentally, and emotionally you've been through quite a lot. Do you remember doing much when you were… there?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. I don't want to think about it, but no, I never did much at all. There was a bench and… not much there. No," came the repeated word, and she shook her head, shivering suddenly and pulling his jacket closer around her.

"I would be surprised, then, if you _didn't_ feel tired after doing much. Give it time." Hopper let the pause linger, waiting for her to speak again, and then giving Gold a look as though he expected Gold to fill the sudden silence.

_Belle had tried to hide her yawn, but he'd caught it. By the time she finished off a small snack of fruit and most of her tea, she was all but melted on the sofa. He had picked chamomile, knowing she'd like the clean taste and the calming effect. What Gold hadn't expected was Belle setting the tea cup on the arm of the sofa and shifting slightly. By the time he realized the room was unusually quiet, she was soundly asleep._

_She looked so peaceful, and the day had gone so well. So he had moved the teacup and saucer to a side table nearby and had draped a throw over her sleeping form. 'Ideal' was the word that came to mind. She looked like she belonged there, as though she'd always been part of his home, and it was with that thought that Gold left her to her rest while he passed the time with some book keeping._

"What happened after your new wardrobe?" Hopper finally asked the question. And the answer was the reason why he was visiting today.

"She fell asleep downstairs. And she had a bad dream," Gold answered flatly. _Bad dream_ was hardly accurate. He could still hear the scream—the scream that sent a chill through him. He'd found her on the floor, sobbing and tangled in the throw.

"_No!" she shrieked, breath coming in panicked heaves, hands clawing at the blanket wrapped around her. She was frantic to get it off, but when he tried to reach for it, she pulled back, yelping in fear._

_Belle's hands were shaking—her whole body was shaking—and she kicked and whimpered as she fought the fabric. _

"_Sweetheart, let me help," he begged, his own tears welling up and he tried to kneel down to help. Something, maybe later he thought it might have been the endearment, seemed to reach her because her breath caught for a moment, and her eyes met his. And it seemed to finally draw her to the present, this time her tears were upset but she had softened. _

"_I n-need it off! I can't… I can't get out of it," she stammered._

_He reached with careful hands, finding one corner somehow wrapped around her foot and quickly untangling it. Within moments, he had freed her and was pulling her back onto the sofa with him. "I've got you… listen, it's okay," he soothed, gathering her close but careful not to hold her tightly like he wanted. He drew one of her hands to his chest. "Feel it? Nice and slow, match your breath to mine… there you go… deep breaths…"_

"Belle?" Hopper was calling her name, and it made both of them look up.

When he glanced over, he saw that she was pale and her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. Her gaze dropped, and she started to pet Pongo again, stroking his big floppy ears. "I… I woke in a panic. I couldn't remember where I was or why…" She traced a line from the top of the dog's head to his collar and scratched around the fabric.

"Did you have a dream?" Hopper tried.

She shook her head, nibbling on her bottom lip again before her gaze lifted. "I don't remember… I may have… I remember waking up, and I didn't know where I was," she said softly.

Hopper waited a few more moments, but when she didn't add anything else, he finally gave a small nod and, it would seem, decided she was finished sharing for now. "I think the best plan for now is to always sleep in the same place. Somewhere familiar like your bed. Even if you feel very tired. In fact, especially when you're very tired. I'd like to see you make a schedule and keep to it. Rest when you need it, but try to come up with a routine—when you'll wake, meals, naps, and the like. Creating consistency can help quite a bit."

"I could do that," she answered softly, fingers sliding over Pongo's coat in a way the dog obviously liked, since he was leaning more and more of his weight against the chair.

"And begin journaling when you have bad dreams. Even if you can't remember them," Hopper continued before Belle could object. "Anything you do remember, even if it's just the feelings it gave you. Write them down. And write down anything you remember before falling asleep. Were you angry or upset about something? Was something uncomfortable, even if the sheets don't smell right," he added gently, reminding them both of the issues they dealt with nearly a week ago. "Even the smallest sensory details can give us clues to help you."

She nodded, swallowing back the emotions and taking the handkerchief that Gold offered. "I… I think I want to lie down for a while."

It didn't surprise Gold, although he wondered if she would get rest this time. She'd been restless most of the night, fighting sleep. He had known, without needing to ask her, that she was avoiding sleep to avoid night terrors or the panic attacks that could follow them. He really hoped she got some rest now.

"Call if you need me," Hopper said softly before standing and calling his dog to him. "I'll visit again tomorrow, unless I hear from you before then."

"Thank you," Belle murmured, taking a moment as though to gather her remaining energy before she stood and went in search of something more suited to sleeping.

As much as he wanted to give her space, to not hover, Gold couldn't resist the urge to check in a few moments later. She was standing before the bureau, fingers sliding over fabric.

"Belle?" he asked quietly from the doorway.

She glanced up with the ghost of smile. "Thank you. I don't think I can truly tell you how grateful I am. For everything."

"You thanked me quite a bit yesterday," he answered quietly, the corner of his mouth quirking into its own small smile. She had, at least seven or eight times and with a several kisses as well. They were gentle, exploratory kisses, and he'd let each linger before gently easing back from each one. He wanted her, but he wanted this to work between them. And it wouldn't work if they rushed this.

She crossed the room, walking slowly toward him and wrapping her arms around him. They fit so neatly together, and he was sure that each time her head rested against his shoulder that it would always feel like a miracle. "You've been so patient… I feel like you're doing everything right now."

"Let me, sweetheart," he murmured into her hair, rubbing her back in an attempt to comfort. "Let me look after you for a while… please," he breathed the last word, dropping a kiss to the top of her head and holding her for a while longer before shifting, one circling her shoulders and leading her toward the bed.

She fell in step with him, urging him to join her. It didn't take much to talk her into a nightgown and to ease back the covers.

"Come sit with me?" she asked, almost hesitantly. "At least til I fall asleep?"

"Of course." He took his side of the bed, between her and the door. Shoes were easily removed, and he stretched out beside her, not minding in the least when she cuddled up against him. It would be later in the day before he realized she was trying to look after him. He would know it later, when he woke from a two hour nap to find Belle reading beside him, the circles under her eyes darker than before.


	10. Chapter 10

_Trigger warnings for anxiety and its manifestations. As always, thank you for your kind comments. You're all lovely people. I'm already onto the next chapter and hope to update each week…_

The shop was overwhelming. There were so many things to see, unfamiliar smells, and a prevailing sense of history. She hadn't been prepared for it at all. He had urged her to look about, to take her time, and at first she'd hardly known where to start.

The larger pieces certainly drew the eye—the big metal thing with two wheels, so many things she didn't know the names. Certainly she'd noticed there were many things when she first walked in, what had he said it was over a week ago? But at the time her focus was _finding Mr. Gold_ and being somewhere safe.

A beautiful mobile caught her eye, and she spent long minutes marveling over the crystal unicorns, awed with their uniformity. Seven steins were lined up neatly atop a glass case, similar and yet each unique. They were obviously used, and yet well cared for.

He was busy cleaning, dusting the fine layer that had settled over everything, no doubt because of the last week. When she had tried to find a rag to help, he gently pulled it from her fingers and eased around her, telling her to look about, that she wasn't to worry about this work.

Sometimes movement from outside the shop distracted her, and she froze in her tracks, breath caught for a few heartbeats. The heavily shaded windows gave her the advantage, to watch about the town but with privacy. No one could see her very well, if at all. And yet she saw the elder man puttering about his work down the street, and the increasing number of people in and out of a place called _Granny's_.

For a long time no one gave the small shop much more than a second glance. Except for six stout men who finally crossed the road. They did not look happy.

"R-rumple?" she asked uncertainly, stepping back and bumping into one of the large display cases.

She could see one of the men step forward and reach for the door. When the knob didn't turn, he pounded loudly in a way that made her jump.

"Step into the back if you like, Belle," he murmured. "I'll take care of this."

Belle backed toward the other room, stepping behind the curtain and out of sight, though certainly closely enough to hear the bell ring as the door opened and closed. And to hear the angry voices in the adjoining room. She almost stumbled over a stool, but she sank to it instead.

"—crossed over the town line, and his memory's gone. Wiped. Thinks he's Clark again," came the gruff, angry voice. "_You_ have to fix it!"

"Oh, I do, do I?" came the cool, indifferent response. Rumple. The calmness in his voice in contrast with the other's anger made Belle shiver. "I don't recall pushing him over the town line. Nor should you have been dabbling near it. His own folly led to his current condition."

"How was he supposed to know?" came the biting retort. "You brought magic. We all know it. You fix it!"

"And was I to know? I hardly know where to start," he dismissed the words, and Belle could almost see him sneer.

The tension was obvious, even from the other room, and she felt her chest tighten. Gasping, she quickly cast about, unsure which way to go. Behind her was a worktable, a desk maybe of sorts. She moved to it quickly and ducked under it, curling and hugging her knees to her chest. Voices were louder, and she pressed both hands to her ears, burying her face and willing it to go away. Willing the noise to go away. The anger to stop.

A hand on her shoulder nearly made her jump out of her skin, as it was only his quick movement to cup her head kept Belle from hitting it against the desk.

"Sweetheart, it's alright," he assured, voice pitched low. He had pulled the chair away from the desk and was sitting in it, leaning down. "They're gone, it's only us." His hand was warm as it gently reached for hers, chaffing it lightly. "Come on, the floor's cold and hard."

She shivered and took his hand, letting him help her to her feet. When he took his own jacket and wrapped it around her, she finally blinked and settled. "I don't like feeling cold." The words seemed to tumble out before she knew what she was saying.

"We ordered some proper coats for you last night. Maybe we should look for some sweaters as well, cardigans or something you can wear over your dresses if you need." He led her slowly to the cot, offering a throw for her legs. "I'm making some tea."

"Thank you," she said quietly, fingers running over the texture of the throw, fingering the yarn and its weave. "It reminds me of… of the asylum."

"The blanket?" he asked, turning quickly and staring at the throw as if he would incinerate it on the spot.

Her head shook slightly, curls tumbling. "The cold. It was… it was always cold. And they didn't give me any covers. They said I _couldn't be trusted_ with a blanket." The words were fuzzy, but she thought she had heard those same words many times.

"Tell you what, let's have some tea, you sit for a while as I clean up shop, and then we can go home. We can relax by the fire with supper, hmm?" he coaxed, getting water for the kettle.

Belle considered it for a few moments before nodding. "On one condition."

His brow raised, and he gave a small half smile, obviously encouraged that she was up to bargaining. "Oh?"

"You join me and have a cup of your own," she began, giving a ghost of a smile when he agreed before she could finish, "_And_ you allow me to help you clean." She glanced around the backroom, which was in marked contrast to the front room. This was so clearly a work space, while the other was all show.

He shook his head slightly, making sure the kettle was set, although she could see no stove to heat the water. "Please relax, I can take care of the dust easily enough."

"I want to help," Belle insisted, feeling this need again, this urge to do something to contribute. "Besides, it's not strenuous, and Archie himself said some light exercise might help me feel physically tired enough to rest at night." She didn't add that she could think of other things that might tire her enough to sleep. As much as she hated to admit it, Rumple was right to insist they wait for… that.

A small, and he nodded in agreement. "Dust the tops of the display cases, the interior can wait for another time. But first…" He trailed off, slipping into the other room for a moment before returning with a tea pot and cups, setting them on a low table nearby. The tea was only a few moments more, and he was pouring.

She gave a tentative smile, nodding in agreement to the truce and calming further as the familiar scent of chamomile steam rose from the cup. "It smells deli… Rumple," the last word was breathed, her breath catching as she saw the cup. This cup.

Biting her bottom lip and trying to remember to breathe, she reached with both hands cradling the piece, lifting it reverently. White porcelain and the blue mark, so distinctive. And the chip. Her hands trembled, and the little sob slipped out before she could bite it back. "Our chipped cup."

His hands wrapped around hers, steadying them, and he dropped a soft kiss into her hair. "Yes, sweetheart. Yes."


	11. Chapter 11

_This chapter was unexpected. I didnt know this character was coming into this scene until he quite literally walked in the door. Enjoy._

The bell rang, and he almost threw something in its direction. The bell was entirely too cheerful, and it reminded him for the umpteenth time for the woman back at his home.

"_Belle, sweetheart?" he called again, the third time he'd tried to wake her this morning. The first time was when he woke, and she didn't even stir when he spoke her name. The second time was after his shower, when she mumbled something and burrowed into the pillows. Third time was not the charm._

"_Mmmmff," came the groggy mumble, eyes barely cracking open._

_His fingers gently brushed locks from her face. "I'm to make you breakfast, then off to the shop. Would you like to come with me today?" She'd decided to come with him for two days in a row, finding a few books and taking some time to peruse the many objects found there. She'd even managed to bring his back room into some semblance of order, sorting through bits and pieces he'd never gotten around to organizing._

"_Tired," she sighed. "Wanna sleep."_

_It made him hesitate, but he simply nodded and gave her shoulder a gentle caress before pulling the blankets up around her. "I'm leaving the phone on the side table. Hit 'contact 1' if you need me."_

"_Be fine," Belle managed, her voice scratchy with sleep and not entirely awake. Although he hadn't liked the idea, he _had _shown her how to use the contact features the other day. She could reach him if she really needed to._ The memory was doing nothing to ease his mind when his shop door opened just as he'd resolved to lock up for the day and return home. Return to her.

"Hi, Mr. Gold," the boy called, hesitating on the threshold.

"Henry," he said, surprised to see him. It wasn't often that he was caught off-guard, but at the moment Gold was more concerned that his mother—either of his mothers, for that matter—might be right behind his visitor. A quick glance showed an empty street, and he waved the child into his shop. Schooling his features into control, he asked, "What brings you to my shop?"

Henry Mills was a curious child, in fact few people Gold had met could rival this curiosity. Which after three hundred odd years of life, he could say he had met a great many people. The boy's eyes were wandering the shop, taking it in with an awe that seemed familiar, from the old world, but that Gold couldn't quite place.

The boy found the courage to step further into the shop, the door closing behind him. He glanced around for a half moment before walking to the counter and giving Gold a searching look. It was almost unnerving, and he wasn't sure if the boy learned it from Regina or from Emma or from somewhere else entirely. It was irritatingly familiar, and yet he couldn't place it.

"Shouldn't you be in school on a Friday?" Gold asked lightly, glancing at the clock that put the time as shortly after the lunch hour.

"Everyone went crazy after the curse broke. And... they still don't know why everyone didn't go back to the forest," he answered slowly, thinking over his words, as though he wasn't sure what to hold back and what to say. "My grandpa, um... Prince Charming, anyway, he said for everyone to keep doing what they were. You know, like live life and all that. But everyone freaked when Mr. Clark went over the town line and lost his memory. School wasn't that important this week."

He was mentally filing away all of this information. Typically Gold knew almost everything happening in this town. The last week and a half his priorities had been very much elsewhere. It was only by the happenstance of Belle in his shop that he wasn't that first person over the town line. Another setback, and Bae seemed farther away than ever. "You still haven't asked for your favor," he answered neutrally. Child though he might be, now was the time to ask or to leave.

"I want you to help my mom," came the brave request, only one hand playing with the strap of his backpack gave away Henry's nervousness.

His brow arched, though he kept his face a careful mask as he asked the all-important follow up question, "Which mother would this be?"

The thin mouth stretched into a line before he met Gold's gaze squarely, only a wisp of hair falling in his eyes to break the intensity. "Regina."

Gold couldn't stop the sneer at the name, his fingers curling tightly around his cane, the gesture hidden behind the counter. If he showed this boy his anger, no doubt the boy would run. Charming and his family would quickly descend upon him, and he _really_ needed to return to his home. To Belle. "You know who she is." It was a statement. Not a question.

"The Evil Queen," came his solemn answer.

"And you've read that book of yours," Gold continued.

The nod was his answer.

"Good," was his succinct reply, turning on his heel toward the back room.

"Good?" Henry questioned, in a tone that was anything but good. "Wait, Mr. Gold, you're not going to help her? Why not?"

He glared over his shoulder, pausing in the doorway. "If you've read that book, you should know a great many reasons why I cannot and will not help her."

"But you _have_ to help," Henry protested, daring to step forward again, coming around him and standing in the doorway to the back room. For a half moment, Gold wondered if this was a bit of nascent bravado the boy had inherited from Charming, but he decided it ran more along the defiance of one Emma Swan.

He shook his head. "I don't have to _do_ anything. And you don't know what you're asking," he added in a low, fierce growl.

"You loved someone once. Belle," Henry tried, not budging from his spot. "And I love my mom."

"Your book may have left out some of the stories, certainly many of the details," he countered. "There is nothing here you need, so you ought to leave. I'm sure your family will be looking for you soon." He could feel his fingers gripping the cane tighter than ever, struggling not to rage at the boy. Henry knew nothing of what he spoke. He knew nothing of the woman and what she had endured. It wasn't a story fit for a child's ears, not even one as precocious as Henry Mills.

There as no sadness in the boy, only frustration and a great deal of anger. He stalked away, circling Gold and moving slowly to the main door. Just as he reached for the doorknob, he turned one more time. "If you can't help her, can you promise not to hurt her?"

His head shook slightly before the words followed, "No, I can't promise."

The boy's bottom lip trembled for a half second before he pressed it into a hard line and turned quickly, shutting the door behind him with a loud thud, the bell ringing in strained protest.

Gold slammed his cane against the wall just inside the workroom, barely having the presence of mind to make sure it wasn't in the show room. He gave a second smack for good measure before running his hand through his hair and struggling to even out his breath and find control. With a huff, he finally turned off the lights and let himself out, glad he had taken his car when the rain started halfway through his short drive home.


End file.
